In Over My Head
by Rainbowbananas
Summary: Shawn's always laughed at danger, but he may have finally met his match in Pierre Despereaux. Shawn/Despereaux, whump later because I just can't help myself.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hello good people! Welcome! If you're reading my other Psych story, don't worry, I'm still working on it. But this just kind of popped into my head, and having multiple stories going at once is the best way to stop writer's block before it starts (talk to your doctor!), so I'll be working on them both._

_Here, we begin when Shawn and Gus chase Despereaux on skis in "Extradition British Columbia." Be warned, this story will contain sex, violence, cursing, maybe spoilers, and little to no editing on my part. Be sure to tell me what you think, reviews make me write faster! It's been proven by science. I own nothing Psych-related. Thanks for reading!_

When you're an international art thief, concealing your identity is something in which you take great pride. So, when you're locking your boots into your skis, just about to head down the slopes, and someone _calls your name_… well, you take notice. You check that they're not pointing a weapon or a badge at you (they aren't) and then you take off down the hill as fast as your ten-thousand dollar skis will go. Which is very fast, so you allow yourself a smug smile as you zip past pine trees and snowdrifts.

When that someone actually chases you, yelling and flailing down the mountain in a manner that can only be described as inept, your smile turns into laughter, and you dodge into the trees. There is no way these two idiots will be able to follow you through such an advanced path.

Pierre Despereaux chuckled and shook his head as he wove expertly through the trees. Sunlight flashed on blonde hair coming loose from his cap. What on earth had that been about? He would have to figure out who those two were, probably change hotels just to be sure… but they clearly didn't pose any real threat.

Movement near the edge of the tree line caught his eye, and he squinted through his goggles. Someone was… standing in the path? Just where the trees ended and the hill sloped gently down toward the lodge and parking lot. There was definitely someone there. He swerved away as the figure suddenly stepped right in front of him, but he was going too fast and he slammed into the person hard enough to knock them both down. In a tangle of limbs and skis they rolled down the hill, spraying sparkling snow into the air.

"Aagh… oh, god… my spleen…" Finally, they tumbled to a stop. The kid was muttering and wriggling, but they were very much intertwined, and Pierre had made sure he was on top when they stopped rolling. He was no longer amused, and needed to find out exactly how much these two knew and how they knew it. _Interrupting my leisure. How impolite. _

The kid squirmed beneath him, but Pierre put a hand on his shoulder, pinning him on his back. With his other hand, he ripped the goggles from the kid's face, and flung them away.

"Ow, hey!" the kid whined, bringing a gloved hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. "Man, I just bought those. Well, Gus did. But I like them!" He tried to pull away again, still chattering, as Pierre looked him over.

No one he recognized, which meant little danger. Big, sparkling hazel eyes, short auburn hair, and a grin that lit up his whole face when he turned it on Pierre, saying in a singsong, "I know who you are."

Pierre stared grimly back, resisting the infectious smile. _Hm. Wasn't expecting him to be so… pretty._ He looked around. The other kid was struggling toward them, having apparently taken the long way down. He was shouting. Any moment, someone was going to come investigate the noise, and that was really more attention than Pierre felt comfortable with, especially this close to a job.

The kid was still trying to get away, squirming, thrusting his hips upward, one leg coming up to press against Pierre's groin. He sighed. Much as he would have liked to pursue this, it was time to go. He leaned in so his mouth brushed the kid's ear, and whispered "You don't know anything. You haven't seen anything. I'll be watching you." By the time he was finished, the kid had gone absolutely still and was staring at him with flushed cheeks and parted lips. It seemed he hadn't been the only one enjoying the situation a little too much. With a last, soft chuckle, he rose and slipped into the trees.

As he darted between shadows, he heard faintly, "Shawn! Are you all right? Who was that guy?"

"I take back what I said earlier. Abigail would be totally justified in being jealous of that dude."

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

Gus was worried. He didn't think they should pursue Despereaux without backup. Shawn knew this because that night, when they finally got to their hotel room, Gus said, "I'm worried, Shawn. I know you want to go charging off to follow some clue you picked up from the way his pants were wrinkled or something, but we shouldn't pursue Despereaux without backup."

During the walk to the hotel, all Shawn could think about was the mountainside. Despereaux had first caught his eye because he was attractive, in a ten-years-older-than-Shawn sort of way. It was only as he looked closer that he realized he'd seen those brooding eyebrows and dimples somewhere before. Then, they were tumbling through the snow, and the art thief was lying on top of him, pressing his hips into the ground, menace in his blue eyes.

His voice – soft, with a posh British accent, but containing enough gravel to make it intriguing. His warm breath on Shawn's neck, lips brushing his ear as he whispered… was it a threat? "I'll be watching you."

_I'll be watching you_. A shiver made of equal parts fear and lust ran down Shawn's spine.

"Shawn! Are you listening to me?" Right. Gus. His friend was sitting on his bed, absently flicking through the channels on their TV, but clearly watching Shawn.

"Totally, buddy. But, listen, no – just hear me out. Think how mad Lassie will be when we catch him! All on our own!"

Gus stopped even pretending to watch TV. "_When_ we catch him? Shawn, he is dangerous! And a criminal mastermind!"

"And he looks sexy on skis."

"We will never catch –wait, what?"

Shawn turned away, picking up Gus's suitcase and throwing it on the bed. He opened it and began rifling through it, deliberately scrambling the neatly folded contents.

"Oh, no. Shawn. Please don't do this. Not now." Gus got up and walked over, ignoring the blatant violation of order that was happening in front of him. Not good, that meant he wasn't going to be distracted easily.

"Do what?" asked Shawn innocently. "Gus, where is your bubble bath? I think after the day I just had, I deserve some relaxation!"

"Stop changing the subject! You know exactly what. You are going to try and seduce Despereaux."

"Seduce? Really, buddy? I think that implies the use of fainting couches and maybe corsets or something. Shouldn't–"

"Shawn! I know that look! Listen, Despereaux's not just going to beat you up a little and then run off. He will actually kill you. And maybe me."

Giving up on the suitcase, Shawn threw his hands in the air. "Despereaux's not going to kill me! Or beat me up, and I don't know why you dwell on that so much. It's only happened a few times." He was unable to stop the smile tugging at his lips, as a plan began to coalesce in his mind.

Gus folded his arms. "A few times? You remember that biker last year? Erik, or something? And the _fireman_? And, um, what's-his-face, with the exotic animal preserve?"

"Ok, that last guy may have been a bad idea. How was I supposed to know he wanted the lions to be part of our relationship? Anyway, I don't see how any of this is related. Despereaux is an art thief, not a fireman with daddy issues," he continued, as he went to the bathroom to inspect the shower. "I'm sure he'll be a total gentleman. Ooh! Gus! Tiny hotel soap. Score!"

Gus spluttered, his disbelief getting the better of him. As Shawn came back into the main room, Gus was putting things back in his suitcase, shaking his head and muttering to himself. He'd already changed into pajamas, the ones with little bulldogs all over them. Sensing that any further conversation would only aggravate his friend more, Shawn went to the window and looked out over the glittering city.

_I'll be watching you…_

Another shiver ran up his spine. Somewhere in that web of light, Despereaux was waiting. With a smile of anticipation on his face, Shawn flopped down on his bed, and absently rubbed a hand over the day's worth of stubble on his chin. He could never tell Gus this, but the danger was part of the reason he was attracted to these guys. It wasn't like he didn't see the twitch in their hands, the hardness in their eyes, that said they could explode into violence at any moment. It wasn't like he missed the million signs saying they were broken, and wanted to break him.

_I don't know how I'd ever be able to make Gus understand. _Even after years of friendship, there were some things Shawn still felt unable to voice. Gus was, at his core, rational and calm. There was no way to explain the elation of dancing on the edge of a cliff to him. No way to explain that sometimes no matter how much mayhem he caused, no matter how many new things he tried, he got so restless he couldn't breathe. Anyone could jump off a building if there was already a noose tight around their neck.

They didn't talk about Despereaux again; Shawn was too busy planning, and Gus was clearly hoping Shawn would forget about it. There was very little on TV, so they settled on a wrestling marathon, and watched the brightly-lit, spandex-clad drama until they were both almost asleep.

Eyes closed, Gus finally mumbled, "Buddy… Despereaux… really bad idea. You know m'just worried… 'bout you…" A soft snore relieved Shawn of the burden of answering. _He's such an old woman sometimes, _thought Shawn fondly as he watched his friend sleep for a moment, before turning off the TV and crawling under his own covers. _Besides, art thief? Not exactly the most violent of occupations, even though it is awesome. This is going to be so much fun…_ With that thought, he drifted off.

… … … … … …

The sun was blinding, stabbing down from a clear sky and reflecting off miles of undisturbed snow. Clean white lines stretched away into jagged smudges of pine forest.

Shawn lay on his back, naked. The snow burned his skin, but he barely noticed. The man lying on top of him removed his goggles and mask, revealing blue eyes and a smile that slowly widened as a breeze blew strands of fine blonde hair across his eyes. Suddenly, he too was naked, and he was leaning down to whisper in Shawn's ear, "Do you really want me to be a gentleman?"

"D-Despereaux… aah!" He whimpered and dug his nails into the other man's back as Despereaux trailed not-quite-gentle bites down his jaw, then his neck, then his chest… teeth and a tongue teasing his nipple made him bite his lip on a moan that escaped anyway.

His back arched and he gasped as a strong hand wrapped around the base of his cock and began slowly pumping.

"Ssh," came the quiet voice, and then any sound Shawn might have made was swallowed by Despereaux's lips. He pushed his tongue into Shawn's mouth without waiting to be let in, growling as Shawn moaned again.

As one of Shawn's hands grabbed a handful of soft blonde hair and pulled Despereaux's head down harder, their harsh gasps echoed loud in the empty expanse of mountain.

An unearthly ringing sounded over them.

Shawn's eyes snapped open. He was lying in bed, curled around a pillow, panting. He was still hard, almost painfully so, his erection rubbing against the thin fabric of his boxers. It was still dark outside, the faint orange glow of the city tinting the edges of the sky.

The ringing finally stopped as Gus grabbed the phone, and mumbled, "H'lo? Yes, thank you," before letting it drop to the floor. Hurriedly, Shawn made sure the blanket was pulled up over his waist and shut his eyes. He listened to Gus moving around the room, getting ready to go for a run.

_Perfect. I can be out of the room by the time he gets back. I need to figure out how close Despereaux is to doing the job. _

As he heard the door click shut, he slowly reached a hand down inside his boxers. Eyes squeezed shut, feeling cold wind and hot breath on his face again, he finished himself off with a few quick jerks. After a moment, he wiped the sweat from his face, kicked off the covers, and went in search of breakfast.

_A/N: Well. Hope you liked it, I know it's really long but my internet's been out, so I figured I'd just keep writing… tell me what you think! Thanks again for reading! _


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Well. Long time no see. Rated M for a reason, always possible spoilers for all seasons, nothing but the plot is mine. Enjoy!_

Shawn was not having a good day. A café, a ski shop, a "fine tobacco products" establishment, and three bars turned up no hint of Despereaux's existence. He'd gotten the locations from the receipts he'd slipped from the art thief's pocket when they tumbled down the hill, but there the trail had ended. So here he sat in the last bar, no more knowledgeable about Despereaux's next heist, getting slowly and surely drunk.

"Barkeep! Another of these fine concoctions; what did you call these again, my good man?" He called, using the pseudo-British accent in which he'd been making inquiries all day.

"It's a gin and tonic. Mr. Despereaux." deadpanned the bartender, sliding the drink down the bar. Oh yeah. And he'd been using Despereaux's name all day, figuring why bother with subtle? Subtle could take ages; who knew how long Gus would be able to afford staying in the country.

"Ahh, yes. You see, we don't have this in my country," Shawn blathered, but the guy just rolled his eyes and walked away. Some people have no sense of the dramatic.

As he took a gulp of the drink, he felt something press into his side, and a hand fell on his shoulder. "I think," a voice whispered, and yet again breath warmed his neck. "That that is about enough from Mr. Despereaux, don't you?"

The thing in his side pressed in harder and suddenly, he knew what it was. _Knife. There's a knife about to slide through my ribs._

A glance around the bar turned up nothing and no one that could conceivably get him out of this. The bar was a dark hole-in-the-wall, not a complete dive, but not exactly a family establishment either. The bartender was cleaning something at the other end of the bar, chatting with a grizzled guy in flannel, and the other patrons were scattered about alone or in small groups, talking quietly.

The hand on his shoulder tugged him off the stool, yanking him close when he stumbled. Maybe that last drink hadn't been the best idea. He was now being marched toward the bathroom, the knife still scratching through his shirt.

Once inside, Despereaux locked the door, then shoved Shawn hard, so his back hit the wall with a thud and he coughed out all the air in his lungs. A snarl twisted Despereaux's patrician features as he pressed Shawn to the wall and held a gleaming switchblade to his throat, forcing his chin up.

"Your antics on the slopes were mildly amusing. Your activities today, however, have been nothing short of rude, as well as counterproductive. If you're attempting to catch me, you have effectively ensured I will see you coming."

Shawn gasped in a breath, "No," he said, "I am totally going to catch you. It's just," another gasp, "I think you're kind of awesome. I mean, most of the criminals I catch are just murderers and petty thieves and other boring stuff like that. Also, I'm psychic, so I kind of have an unfair advantage. I just wanted to meet you for real, maybe exchange a few empty threats or something, before I get going."

Heart pounding, Shawn watched as Despereaux considered, the snarl replaced by a smirk. "Courtesy? You've been gallivanting around town under my name, you've forced me to alter my plans for the evening, and you're trying to suggest it was a gesture of courtesy."

"Um…" The blonde hair escaping from its perfectly-swept place to fall in Despereaux's eyes was very distracting.

Right. Knife, angry criminal mastermind. "Yep!" Shawn said breezily.

This received a full-blown laugh, then Despereaux sighed, "Oh, what am I to do with you, Mr. Spencer? Yes, I know who you are. You weren't the only one making inquires today, though I dare say mine were more successful. As such, I don't believe you to be a serious threat, and your lack of caution is quite refreshing. I suppose I don't have to hurt you. Though…"

Shawn felt his heart, which had finally begun beat a pace slightly slower than 'run for your life,' begin to race again as sharp blue eyes bored into him. _Seriously, most dramatic pause ever. It's totally working though._

"I just can't let that bit about 'empty threats' go," whispered Despereaux, suddenly crushing Shawn against the wall.

He forced Shawn's chin up another inch with the knife, then captured his mouth in a bruising kiss. Shawn's surprised gasp turned into the smallest of moans as he squeezed his eyes shut and let Despereaux in, knowing he really didn't have a choice. As soon as he opened his mouth, however, the thief began a line of soft bites down his neck, he was sucking the hollow just above Shawn's clavicle, pulling the collar of his shirt aside for better access, and another moan escaped Shawn's mouth.

Then, teeth sank into his neck, and his yelp of pain was smothered by a hand over his mouth, which twisted his head to the side as Despereaux bit down. Warm liquid trickled over his collarbone into his shirt collar, and he bucked against the body crushing him, shoving ineffectively at Despereaux's arms.

He was falling, released finally, to sprawl against the wall, clutching his neck with both hands. _Fuck, that really hurts,_ he thought vaguely, staring up at the man standing over him, who wiped a smear of blood from his lips with a satisfied smile. Without another word, Despereaux turned and slipped out of the bathroom.

As he sat on the floor, Shawn's brain jumped into overdrive, cataloguing the rust streaks on the walls, the flickering fluorescent lights, and the faint scuffs on the tile floor from Despereaux's extremely expensive shoes. He used the wall to pull himself up, and walked over to examine the damage in the mirror.

"Damn it…" he muttered when he saw the blood soaking his collar, the still-oozing ring of tooth marks at the point where his neck met his shoulder. "Gus is gonna shit a lot of bricks." Sighing, he took off his shirt and did his best to get the blood out, then splashed water over the bite. He grabbed some paper towels on the way out, and used them to soak up the blood still leaking out of him as he made his way to the bar.

"Tab's paid," grunted the bartender when he got there, looking deliberately bored. How that was possible Shawn had no idea, but it was pretty clear this guy's mission in life was to convey indifference on a massive scale to the sight of a bloodied, slightly wobbly fake psychic trying to pay for his drinks.

"What? By who?" Shawn said, though he was sure of the answer.

"Just said it was a gesture of courtesy."

Shawn let out a loud bark of laughter, not caring that it made everyone in the bar turn and stare. He trudged out into the cool, damp night air, and tilted his head back, breathing deeply. Slowly, more laughter bubbled up inside him, until he couldn't hold it in anymore, and he sat down on the curb, holding his stomach and giggling.

After a few minutes, he heaved in a breath, and wiped the tears from his face. _That was a badass first impression. Or second impression. Whatever, challenge definitely accepted. _He got up and walked in the direction of his hotel, still smiling.

_A/N: Ok, now I'll babble a bit. First of all, thanks for waiting on me, and thanks to everyone who reviewed/alerted/faved/etc.! My life is still a bit of a mess, but in a pretty good way, so I'll try not to make you wait that long for updates again, but bear with me, k? And remember to tell me what you think! _


	3. Chapter 3

By the time Shawn got back to the hotel, he was staggering, exhaustion and alcohol turning his feet into dead weight. It hadn't felt like such a walk when he'd been chasing Despereaux all over, but apparently he'd managed to get halfway across town. With every step his headache pounded.

Streetlamps made even circles of light down the wide streets, and the cool breeze cut through his thin button-up shirt. Finally, the hotel loomed out of the mist, cheerily lit and surrounded by well-trimmed shrubbery.

As he walked down the hallway to the room, his phone rang. When he saw who it was, he rolled his eyes and stuck it back in his pocket.

He finally made it to the room, and began fumbling with the keycard. Every time he inserted it, the little light on the card reader turned red and beeped obnoxiously. The door was fighting him. That was the only explanation. "Rank insubordination…" he muttered, resting his aching head on the wall. "Blatant violations of… door and… people relations… codes…" Stupid red blinking light. Stupid keycard.

Suddenly, the door was yanked open and he fell with a yelp into the room. Groaning, he rolled over onto his back and stared up at a very smug Gus, who sighed and closed the door, then _stepped over him_ to walk back toward the beds, tossing his phone away as he went. The sheer injustice paralyzed Shawn for a moment.

"Dude…" he peeled himself off the floor and shambled into the bathroom. Shambled. Now there was a fun word. "Did you use all the bubble bath? I have had a very trying day, and would like to recline in some hot, flower-scented water for a while."

Gus came and stood in the door. "Yes, I did use all the b – oh my God, Shawn, is that blood?" Oops. Probably should've tried to clean himself up a little more, but he'd been so focused on getting back to the room… oh well.

With a soft hiss of pain, Shawn peeled his shirt away from the sticky ring of teeth marks on his shoulder. "No, Gus, I douse myself liberally with ketchup every day. I'm surprised you've never notic – ow, Gus! Easy, buddy!" Gus had practically ripped the shirt off and was now examining Shawn's neck, wiping at him with a wet cloth.

"This is a bite! What the hell? Shawn, what happened? Was… was this Despereaux?"

_Oh yes. Very much so. _The feeling of being shoved against a wall, Despereaux's whole body crushing him…

"Nothing happened. I'm fine, I just need a band-aid." Shawn tried to pull away, but Gus grabbed his shoulders and sat him down on the toilet seat. Gus had Worried Face. Never a good sign. Shawn's headache grew, like a spike being shoved through his temples. He gritted his teeth on a moan.

"A band-aid. Ok, we need to clean this thoroughly, and probably get you some antibiotics tomorrow. Now, Shawn – no, Shawn, look at me."

Reluctantly, Shawn opened his eyes. He'd hoped Gus would just continue to talk and let him sleep, but no such luck, apparently. Ugh, that last drink had been a bad idea. He was usually much better at pacing himself.

_Rough hands in his hair, lips on his neck…_

"Was this Despereaux."

"Um…"

"Shawn!"

"Yes. Yes, fine, I found Despereaux, or… well, he kind of found me, but whatever. We talked, I told him I was going to catch him, he felt the need to make a gesture. Gus, I'm fine!" Shawn batted the alcohol-soaked cotton ball Gus had produced from nowhere away. So tired. He was so tired. He just wanted to lie down…

Hands tightened on his shoulders and Gus' voice got very embarrassingly high-pitched. "Woah! Shawn, open your eyes. Come on, buddy."

When had he closed his eyes? He opened them slowly, and Gus' Very Worried Face swam into view. With a start, Shawn realized he was listing to the side, Gus' hands the only thing keeping him from a faceplant on the bathroom floor. Awesome. Very smooth.

"Unngh… dude, not feeling so hot. Just… just do your wound-cleany thing fast, ok?" Shawn muttered.

A few seconds later, he regretted those words. The alcohol stung viciously, and he whined enough to make sure Gus knew it. Finally, it was over, the bite was covered with a gauze pad (where did Gus keep these things?) and Gus was pulling him to his feet, leading him over to his bed, and dropping him on top of the soft blankets.

With a sigh, Shawn grabbed a pillow and curled around it, not even bothering to remove his jeans or shoes. Before he fell asleep, he heard Gus say softly, "We're going to talk about this tomorrow, Shawn."

_Awesome_.

PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH

Someone was stabbing their unnaturally warm fingers into Shawn's eyes. He groaned and turned over, burying his face in the blankets. Much better. But now there was noise, clattering and muttering, and _God_ his head hurt.

_Did… an international art thief _bite _me last night? Oh God, Gus is going to freak out. _

Sighing in irritation, he flung the covers off the bed and sat up, and when that gesture seemed inadequate, he threw all four pillows, one by one, in different directions.

Satisfied with the mess, he bounced out of bed to see what the noise was, then doubled over, pressing a hand over his mouth with a small choking sound. Nausea clutched at his stomach and crawled up into his throat, and he sat back down on the bed, breathing heavily. He was still breathing and holding his stomach, eyes closed, when the noises from the bathroom stopped.

"Here."

He opened his eyes to see a hand with a glass of water and some pills. Gratefully, he took the pills and sipped at the water, trying to will the churning in his gut away.

Gus sat down on the bed beside him. "How much did you drink last night? You never get hangovers." When Shawn said nothing, just drank some more water, he sighed. "Shawn, I think we should go back to Santa Barbara. Today."

"What? We've only been here two days; this vacation was supposed to last a week! We haven't even had an encounter with a moose yet! You know you were excited for the mooses… meese? Moosi?"

"I am not letting you distract me with promises of moose, Shawn. Despereaux is dangerous, and now he knows who you are. He could hurt you. He could hurt _me_!" Gus went back to the bathroom and came out with an armful of toiletries, which he dumped into his suitcase.

"Gus, come on," Shawn whined. "We've done way more dangerous stuff. Ooh! I know! You should help me catch him! We'll get him in no time if my sweet chocolate right arm helps!"

"We are not going to 'catch him' Shawn! You said yourself _he _found _you_. You are in way over your head with this one. We should alert the Canadian police and get out of here before one of us gets killed." Gus zipped his suitcase.

"Dude, Canada doesn't even have police. They abolished them in 1934 with the Official Niceness Act. How can we leave these people unprotected? It's our duty as crimefighters!"

"Ok, first of all, how many times have I told you there is no Official Niceness Act? And second of all, we're not leaving people unprotected, he's an art thief! He'll just steal art!"

"Ha!" Shawn jumped up triumphantly, which made his stomach roll with nausea. He pressed a hand to it and went on. "See? Not that dangerous. And when we're done, we can get pancakes! I hear the maple syrup here is like heaven."

Gus folded his arms and glared at Shawn, and Shawn knew he'd won. "Fine. One more day. And we're getting pancakes before we start."

"You got it, buddy."

"Damn it, Shawn." said Gus as they slowly raised their hands. "I do not wanna die in Canada!"

Despereaux smirked and motioned with the gun, and they moved to stand against the wall of the alley. They'd been hiding behind the art gallery waiting for it to close, but apparently Despereaux had had the same idea.

"We're not gonna die, I promise. This is just how he says hello," said Shawn. "Hello again, by the way! Told you I'd catch you!" He waved cheerily at Despereaux, then stopped smiling abruptly when Despereaux sneered and cocked the gun. "Or not, you know, we were just… chillin'… not even thinking about you. Gus, I _told _you this wasn't the way to the Build-A-Bear store."

"You did not; you were all 'let's hide around back and catch – ow!" Gus yelped as Shawn kicked him.

"Quiet." With a sigh, Despereaux reached a black-gloved hand into his pocket and pulled out some zip ties. "Normally I wouldn't stoop to this sort of thing, but you've really left me no choice. Turn around please."

They turned around and Despereaux tied their hands. "Now, I assume that ridiculous blue car is around here somewhere, shall we, gentlemen?"

Shawn and Gus exchanged a look and started walking, in the opposite direction of the Blueberry. "So, Pierre," said Shawn after a few minutes, "Not that the whole 'ruthless criminal' act isn't a total turn-on, but you're not really going to shoot us. I mean, you're too high-class for that, right?"

A shove in the small of his back from the gun was his only answer.

"Ok, fair enough, answering that would kind of negate the purpose of having a gun. But – gah!" He stumbled over a rough patch of sidewalk and crashed into Gus, landing them both in a heap at Despereaux's feet. "Ow, ow, my ribs…" he complained, struggling to his feet. "You ok, buddy?"

"No, I am not ok! I am being marched to my death, now my jeans are ripped, and you are flirting with our captor!" Gus got up and glared at Shawn.

"What do large birds of prey have to do with anything?" Asked Shawn as he struggled to his feet.

"That's _raptor_, Shawn, not _captor_, and if you say you've heard it both ways, I will help Despereaux shoot you and hide your body."

"Wow. Harsh. And I don't really think he'll need help shooting me, I mean, it's kind of a one-person job, just pull the trigger and – _guh!_" Despereaux cracked the pistol across the back of Shawn's head, and Shawn saw grey fuzzy spots for a minute.

"Both of you, quiet!" Despereaux grabbed them by the shoulders and spun them around to face him. "Now. Where is your car?"

"Huh, you know, I don't see it anywhere, I wonder – now, Gus!" As he yelled, Shawn dived at Despereaux and took him down in an undignified sprawl, much as he had with Gus a moment earlier. However, this time the intention was to keep Despereaux busy so that Gus could get himself out of the zipties with the Swiss Army knife he'd slipped from Shawn's pocket during their fall and take off running, which he promptly did.

"Go, buddy! Run like the wind!" Shawn shouted after him, grinning as he watched Gus book it around a corner, back in the direction of the Blueberry. "Never doubt the Swiss, man," he remarked to Desperaux, who snarled and shoved him off.

"You fucking – " Despereaux rolled to his knees and shoved the barrel of the gun in Shawn's mouth, forcing his head back onto the pavement. "I should kill you right now." His voice was soft, almost a growl. "You've certainly provoked me more than anyone else ever has. You can't be allowed to continue."

Shawn struggled not to gag; the gun tasted disgusting and it was shoved almost to the back of his throat. Paralyzing terror left him unable to do anything but stare wide-eyed up at Despereaux. He was certain that the fury in the thief's face meant he was about to die.

A moment later, however, Despereaux took a deep breath and the fury was smoothed away by his customary smirk. "But there is the matter of your friend Mr. Guster, who I am sure has already contacted the police, and I have never been connected to a murder before. No, you'll not make this any messier than it must be. I believe I will use you instead."

_Oh thank God. Thank you, Gus. Thank you Dad for teaching me the knife-passing thing, not that I'd ever say that to your face. Thank you, thank you, thank you. _

Despereaux finally took the gun out of Shawn's mouth and he coughed, wincing at the taste of metal. His heart was pounding and he felt almost dizzy with relief, though that could have had something to do with the fact that he'd been holding his breath for the past few minutes.

Desperaux yanked him to his feet, and he stumbled for real this time, the hand around his arm the only thing keeping him from collapsing back to the ground.

"Walk. No talking."

Shawn complied, too busy trying to get his heart to stop pounding to bother resisting.

Despereaux entered the gallery with ease, disabling alarms, picking locks, and avoiding motion detectors like most people walk down the sidewalk. Well, when they're not being held captive.

"Stop."

Shawn stopped. They were in a small back hallway, white walls and ugly fluorescent lighting. Despereaux pulled out a knife, the same one he'd used in the bar and twirled it, glancing from the knife to Shawn's face.

"I see you remember this little blade. Don't worry, it's not for you… yet," he said, smile growing. Shawn gulped. "Despite my annoyance with you, I admit to being stimulated by our encounters as I have not been for some time. Law enforcement is just so… pedestrian. My life really isn't as exciting as one might imagine." He stepped closer, and Shawn stepped back, until he was pressed against the wall, Despereaux not quite invading his personal space. When the thief reached for him he tried and mostly failed to suppress a flinch, which earned him a soft chuckle. Despereaux pulled the collar of his shirt aside to expose the bandage. "Ah. I admit, I was curious… but someone has taken very good care of this, and I would hate to spoil such work."

"Um…" Shawn finally found his voice, though it was a little unsteady. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Wow. You really have the whole menacing monologue thing down, don't you? Do you practice that, or was it just a skill you were born with? Is this the part where I'm supposed to cry a little, maybe beg, promise to back off if you let me go? Because I have to tell you, if that was the effect you were going for, you might want to throw a few actual threats in or something. Just for fut- " He was cut off by a fist to the stomach, and he doubled over with a gasp.

_Note to self: abbreviate distracting babble. Ow. Why can't he just yell like normal criminals? _

"No, Mr. Spencer, this is the part where I tell you your part in this evening's activities. I grow weary of the banter. Can I trust that you have sufficient intelligence to realize the futility of running, if I release your hands?"

Shawn slowly straightened up, wincing and swallowing back nausea. He nodded, Desperaux spun him around, and he felt the ziptie part with a quick slice of the knife. As blood rushed back into his fingers he hissed and flexed them and rolled his shoulders to dispel the aching.

"Good. Down this hall is the room with the security cameras and a guard. You are going to take this," Despereaux ejected the clip from the gun and the bullet from the chamber, then handed the gun to Shawn, along with a few more zipties. He then produced another gun and slid the clip in. "And you will secure the guard. I will be outside the door. If I hear anything that suggests you are making him aware of my presence or attempting to escape, I will kill the guard. Believe me, convincing the police you did it will not be a problem. Understood?"

_Holy shit. I am so screwed. _

Shawn gaped at Despereaux, the empty gun dangling from his hand. There was nothing but calm expectation in the other man's face. "What? _Secure the guard? _I talked to that guy earlier today; he's not going to believe I'm robbing the place. He's a nice guy too, his name's Earl, he's got a dog named Ellison, come on, Pierre, can't we talk about this?" He whined as he was dragged down the hallway.

Outside a grey door, Despereaux stopped and leaned in to whisper in Shawn's ear. "No, Mr. Spencer, we cannot 'talk about this.' Go in there, tie him up facing away from the screens, and come right back out. Do anything else, 'Earl' dies and you go to prison for murder."

Then Despereaux opened the door and shoved him in.

"Wha – Shawn? How the hell did you get in here? What are you… woah. Shawn, what are you doing?" Earl looked at the gun in Shawn's hand. He sat in a chair in front of a huge wall of screens, showing the museum from every angle.

Shawn took a deep breath. "Earl, I need you to get up and turn around." His voice shook.

"Um… what? What is this?" Earl didn't move, didn't even look afraid, just more confused.

"Get up." Gritting his teeth, Shawn raised the gun. "Turn around. Stop talking."

Finally, some comprehension dawned. Slowly, Earl raised his hands and got up from his chair, then turned to face the wall. "_You're _robbing us? So all that stuff about break-ins and security personnel… you were just figuring out your plan."

Shawn didn't reply. What could he say? It felt like he was watching a movie of someone else pulling Earl's hands behind his back and zip-tying them. "Sit down."

Earl sat. "You're really good, you know that? I completely believed that bullshit about being a psychic detective."

_Gotta get out of here. Gonna throw up. I am so screwed. I am so screwed. _

Feeling completely unreal, Shawn tied his feet, then used the remaining ties to secure him to a desk. He also grabbed the keys from Earl's belt, then backed out of the room.

He shut the door then rested his head against it, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, willing his heart to stop racing for what felt like the millionth time in the last hour. Just as all the other times, his heart declined to pay attention and kept on beating wildly. When he turned around, Despereaux was leaning against the opposite wall, arms folded, watching him with amusement.

"What."

"That was well-executed, Mr. Spencer. I expected more… yelling and property damage, to be quite honest."

Shawn closed his eyes again and leaned back on the wall. "Yeah. Great. I'm an awesome criminal. Anytime you need security guards tied up, I'm –" The barrel of Despereaux's gun hit the side of his head, and he crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

_I know, I know, I take forever. I'm not exactly swimming in free time at the moment, sorry. Anyway… this was supposed to be a shameless excuse for bondage-y sex and Shawn whump. Now apparently this story has decided it needs a plot too. I was not consulted on this decision. Please review, I really want to know what you guys think!_


	4. Chapter 4

Gus sighed and checked his phone. It was three forty-five in the morning, and he was sitting beside Shawn's bed in the hospital, waiting for Shawn to wake up or Henry or the Chief to call. Until one of those things happened he was useless. For about the millionth time, he berated himself for not getting Shawn out of the country when he realized Shawn was going after Despereaux. Just this once, he should have exercised some basic self-control, hell, _self-preservation_,in the face of Shawn's infectious, blasé enthusiasm.

Most people, when faced with danger, had a fight-or-flight response. As in, an instinct to get themselves out of danger. Shawn, when faced with danger, had an ooh-shiny response. And Gus knew this. Didn't understand, but knew. Still couldn't do anything about it except clean up afterward, apparently.

Lulled by the soft rustle of the hospital functioning outside the door, Gus fell into a bitter sleep. He dreamed of finding Shawn slumped in the back hallway of the museum in a pool of his own blood, of flashing emergency lights and Despereaux smirking –

"Gus?" The rasping whisper yanked him out of his doze and he lunged for the bed still half-asleep.

"Shawn?" Gus leaned over the bed and gently squeezed Shawn's shoulder, not wanting to jostle him. The side of his friend's face was one huge bruise, mottled purple over his forehead and cheekbone and creating huge dark circles under his eyes. Shawn blinked slowly and licked his lips. "Hey, Shawn? Can you hear me?"

Shawn made a tiny noise that could have been Gus' name, then squeezed his eyes shut and began rolling his head from side to side as his breathing sped up and he clutched the blankets. "Nn… no… Gus? Wha… where…"

Without looking, Gus fumbled until he found the button to call a nurse and hit it. Shawn was getting more agitated by the second, his breathing bordering on hyperventilation and every muscle tensed. Gus held on to his shoulder, feeling even more useless than before. "It's ok, you're ok, you're in the hospital. Despereaux clocked you one, dude. Guess he didn't… Shawn? You hearing me? Shawn?"

Suddenly the door burst open to admit the Loudest Nurse In Canada, at least going by Shawn's reaction, which was to gasp and clutch his head, his whole body jerking away from the door and toward Gus.

"Careful!" Gus did his best not to glare, but it was hard. "He's got a concussion, he just woke up. I'm not sure how aware he is at the mo – Shawn? What? Oh – " Shawn's frantic grab for Gus' arm got his attention just time and Gus got the emesis basin under Shawn's chin as Shawn began to heave. The nurse made a concerned clucking noise and moved forward to take the basin, allowing Gus to sit on the bed and hold Shawn on his side, rubbing his back and supporting his neck. Apparently his delicate gag reflex had decided to give him a break for the sight of his friend in pain. Or maybe guilt was suppressing it.

The vomiting went on for endless minutes, punctuated by gasps and tears, and Gus took Shawn's hand to stop him from digging his nails into his head. Finally Shawn flopped back onto the pillows, shaking and drenched in sweat.

As the nurse went into the bathroom to clean the basin, Gus lightly shook the hand he was still holding. "Shawn? Buddy? You in there?"

After a few more minutes of blinking and shaking, Shawn breathed, "Hey… man…" He squinted up at Gus. "Wha… y'got away?"

"Yes, and I cannot believe you made me run away and leave you there. How are you feeling? There's a nurse around somewhere, she can probably get moving on checking you out so you can get something for the pain."

"Mmnnaah…" Shawn's eyes were sliding closed. "S'okay… I'll jus' go… back t'sleep…"

"Woah, no, Shawn, you should really – hey! Nurse! Shawn, come on, open your eyes." The nurse darted back to the bed and Gus patted Shawn's cheek, trying to get him to focus. As they watched, Shawn's eyes closed and his hands went slack against the blankets.

"Dammit." Gus ran a hand over his face. "What does this mean? Is he going to be ok?"

"Yes, you really shouldn't worry too much at this stage. We would have liked to get him to stay awake long enough to answer some questions, but he knew his name and who you were, and I he seemed to know a little about how he got here, right?"

"Yeah, he asked me about what happened – so this is ok? He's not going to, I don't know, slip into a coma or something?"

Finally, the nurse showed some personality as she chuckled and patted him on the arm. "No, honey, this is actually a good sign. It's good you're here for him, too, it always helps to wake up to a familiar face. You want some coffee? I know you've been here awhile."

If he'd been alone, Gus would have punched the air he felt so relieved. He settled for grinning and saying, "Yeah, that would be great. Thanks."

A few hours later, the sun was filling the room in a golden haze and Gus was once again jolted from a restless sleep, this time by his cell phone. With uncoordinated hands he fumbled it out of his pocket and said, "H'lo?"

"Guster! Why are the Canadian police asking me to verify you and Spencer's identities? Did you go after Despereaux?" Lassiter's growl woke him up far more effectively than the coffee had.

"What? Who? No, we were just… in a… museum accident. Innocent bystanders, really, victims, possibly."

"Guster. Spencer called me. To ask about Despereaux. Said, and I quote, 'I'm looking right at him.' Now if working, and I use the word loosely, with you two has taught me anything, it is that Spencer is pathological when it comes to going after criminals. Now, _why did the Canadian police call me at five in the fucking morning?_"

Gus slapped a hand over his eyes. "Right, I remember that now. Look, Lassie – Lassiter, we did do some investigating, and we were just about to… um… go to the police when…" he trailed off, wondering how to make Lassiter believe a story he wouldn't have believed if he hadn't been there. Someday he was going to have a life that didn't sound like a terrible A-Team ripoff.

"When what, Guster? Adding suspense to the story is not going to make me hate you less."

"Fine. Despereaux took us prisoner, ok? And Shawn – he _distracted _Despereaux so I could get away and I called the police, but by the time we got back to the museum Despereaux was gone and Shawn was unconscious and now he's in the hospital and I really need to get him out of this country before he's lucid enough to try and continue the investigation because I am apparently just as pathological as he is in that I can refuse him the last bite of my Pop-Tart but I can't keep him from actively endangering his life." Those were not tears making Gus' eyes sting. He was just tired.

There was silence on the other end of the line for a minute. Then Lassiter said, with slightly less malice in his voice, "Christ. Another thing I've learned is that my disbelief should be permanently suspended when it comes to Spencer. Fine, I will talk to the Canadians about your involvement, but Guster?"

"Yes?"

"Follow your own advice. Get him home."

PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH

Hospitals in the early morning tended to be rather peaceful, in Pierre's experience. For some reason few really terrible traumas happened around sunrise. Unfortunately, this lull in activity did nothing for the smell.

It was a risk coming here, especially with several hundred thousand dollars worth of stolen art just sitting in the hotel room which he really should have checked out of by now. After all, the events at the museum would have done nothing for his anonymity here. It might be best to vacate North America entirely for the time being.

But first… there, room 503, which a quick rifle through the nurses' station had told him was Shawn Spencer's. And there by the bed was Spencer's shrill little friend, Ed or Bill or some other boring name. Pierre pulled the brim of his cap lower over his face and settled on a bench to wait. They had to have been here all night; surely he'd be wanting coffee or breakfast or just to stretch his legs soon?

Ten minutes later, Pierre's impatience was growing overwhelming. Surely the friend wasn't going to sit by Shawn's bedside constantly until he woke up? What was this, some sort of painfully overwrought romance? The thought made him clench his teeth and narrow his eyes at the back of the friend's head, visible through the window in the door.

Odd, how much emotion Shawn's very presence had produced in him in the past twenty-four hours. He'd been a hairsbreadth from ending the man's life in a blind fury last night, and now… this was getting dangerously close to a mistake. He needed to get out before he was recognized or did something truly moronic like sweeping Shawn from his bed and taking him along to Europe.

Pierre stood and walked back to the nurses' station at the end of the hall, then thought better and took the elevator down to the first floor station. "Excuse me," he said in a flat Canadian accent to the nurse, "I'm a representative of the Heller Museum, I was told the two Americans who were involved in the robbery were here?"

"Yes, they came in last night. One of them has a concussion, however, I'm not sure if he'll be up to talking yet, Mr…?"

"Stanley. Peter Stanley, and that's perfectly all right, I only need to speak to one of them. Just doing the due diligence for the Museum, you understand. If you could send someone to fetch him?" He gave her his most harmless and responsible smile.

She dithered, and Pierrre imagined police pouring through the big glass doors at the far end of the lobby. "I won't take but a few minutes of his time, ma'am. I'm sure he's as eager to put this business behind him as I am to get the artifacts returned to their rightful place." He attempted a stern expression, which had never been his strongest, but it seemed to work.

"Oh, um… alright. I'll send someone for him, Mr. Stanley."

"Thank you, ma'am. I'm just going over for a cup of coffee, please tell him I'll be in the waiting area." Flashing a grin at her, he ambled in the direction of the coffee shop, then went straight for the elevator once he was out of her sight.

He was just in time, when the doors opened on the fifth floor, to duck around a corner to avoid being seen by Shawn's friend, who looked rather irritated as he jabbed the button for the ground floor. Perfect. Let him wander around looking for some museum representative for awhile instead of hanging all over Shawn.

Pierre paused outside the door to Shawn's room, looking in through the window. The room was bathed in the clean light of sunrise, and the light caught in Shawn's hair and gilded the lines of his face and bare torso. Pierre's fingers twitched, wishing they had a paintbrush. Softly, he opened the door and slipped inside.

The click of the door shutting behind him seemed to wake the bed's occupant; he twitched and drew in a breath, letting it out in a soft moan. Pierre moved to the side of the bed and gently turned Shawn's head so he could see the damage he'd caused. It was considerable, a short gash over his temple and bruising spreading out in a kind of half-mask over his face, blood pooling to give him what appeared to be two black eyes.

"Wha… Gus, ssstop it…. hurts…" Eyes still closed, Shawn rolled his head away from Pierre's hand, frowning.

"I apologize. I certainly don't wish to harm you any more… though I'm sure you'll agree you left me no choice in this particular instance."

At the sound of Pierre's voice, Shawn's eyes flew open wide and he jerked away, struggling to sit up in the bed. "Wha… th'hell? How… where's Gus?"

Stifling a grin, Pierre raised his empty hands. The kid was simply adorable, slurring and uncoordinated, yet still slowly trying to move away. Pierre was sure that if he made any sudden moves, Shawn would topple right off the side of the bed onto the floor. "I sent your friend on a small errand. He'll be with you again shortly. I simply had to see if you had any more hilariously overblown threats regarding your competence and my continued operation."

This produced more blinking and a wince, and Shawn raised one hand to clutch at his head. When it appeared no response was forthcoming, Pierre sighed and said, "I suppose you could call this my 'I-told-you-so'. You will never catch me, because I am better than you, and now we both know it. If you've cast me as the villain in your little crime drama, then I shall act the villain. And," Pierre slowly leaned down, watching the way Shawn's eyes widened and small tremors ran over his body as his breathing sped up. Beautiful. This was a sight he would remember for a long time.

Wrapping a hand around the back of Shawn's neck, Pierre breathed against Shawn's lips, "I wanted to do this," then he engulfed Shawn's mouth with his own, relishing the tiny whimper Shawn made around his tongue, the yielding heat of Shawn's lips.

When he pulled back, Shawn was gasping and flushed, gripping the blanket like he was trying to stop it from escaping. "I… I don't… y-you…" he gulped a few times, staring up at Pierre.

Desired result attained; enough rash action for the day. Time to leave. "Well, this has been quite enjoyable. For us both, I think," Pierre nodded at the slight but definite bulge of the blanket over Shawn's groin and grinned at the full-body blush this caused. "Until next time." He opened the door and, seeing the hallway clear, slipped out and made for the stairs.

_A/N: Holy crap, I'm back. Sorry for the delay, I just had no idea where this story was going. I think I have a handle on it now though. So I'm not making any promises about the speed of updates, especially since have two other fics going at the moment (what is wrong with me? Why do I do this to myself?) but I do promise I will finish this thing. Eventually. As always, your patience is much appreciated, and thank you for reviewing! It's reviews that kick my ass and get me writing again, so hit that button! Peace!_


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